There was something wrong with the person in the flat above.
Ever since Tony had moved into his new flat, there had always been music. The sound of a violin being played, the rumbling of someone humming or even the sound of a record seeping through the thin walls and filling the air with constant sound. It was one of the reasons he had bought the place, having heard the mystery person and their music when he had come to view the property. It was on of its charms, he supposed, having a neighbour with such a penchant for sound and melodies.
At Christmas there had been the angelic Silent Night played, singular and pure amongst the sound of carols being sung outside the apartment block. At New Years, there had been the sound of Auld Lang Syne had been accompanied by the sound of church bells striking with the turn of the new year.
But then it stopped.
Winter came with its snow and ice and melted away, bringing in the fresh colour and delights of spring. The birds sang, laughter echoed from the streets below, but Tony's mystery musician had stopped their wonderful playing. He had no idea what had happened, whether they had moved away or whether they had caught on to the audience they had gained, but the music that had given him joy and had enticed him into moving here had vanished into silence.
"I'm telling you, Rhodey, it's weird." He told his friend, sat at his kitchen counter and eyeing the ceiling as though hoping he would hear it once again. He scratched at the stubble along his jaw, uttering a sigh and shaking his head.
James mirrored Tony, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. For the last year he had heard of this enigma living in his apartment block, this maestro that had bewitched Tony from the first second he had walked in. With a sympathetic smile he clapped a hand onto his shoulder, squeezing supportively.
"Tony, they probably just moved. People move on, looking for new places. If they played as often as you say they probably got a few too many noise complaints."
"Complaints? You never heard them play, they were… well, incredible."
Tony's eyes gained a sparkle whenever he spoke about his maestro, one of utter adoration for a person he had never even met. There was just something about them, something that intrigued him, and he had spent many nights fantasising about what kind of person could create such beautiful music.
In his mind he had built up this picture, a woman. She had fiery red hair, freckles, eyes that glittered with mischief and a cheeky smile to boot. She played the violin with such passion, standing in front of the window looking down at the street below while her fingers floated over the strings and guided the bow with such mastery. She was a mere dream, a figment of his imagination and yet he had dreamed of her on many a night.
Rhodey, of course, thought that his depiction of her was hilarious.
"Man, we've got to get you a date or something. Your head's in the clouds."
For his comment, he earned himself a folder thrown at his chest. Tony's lips had curled into a grin, cheeky as he saw a flash of annoyance in his friend's eyes and promptly rolled his own, ducking as the folder was aimed sharply at his head.
"Hey!" He cried, "there's some precious stuff in there!"
A few of the sheets slipped from beneath the folder's covers, sheets of paper with notes hastily scribbled on in pencil, some scribbled out and replaced over and over again. At the top of each sheet there was a title, each with an individual question mark beside it. Tony swiftly scooped each one up, placing it back into the red folder and slamming it shut again. He ignored the amusement on James' face, going and putting it back on its spot on the Ikea shelf.
"Speakin' of musicians, Stark, when are you gonna start playing again?" Rhodey raised a brow and smirked, seeing that his friend had the decency to look away primly; the colour rising on his cheeks subtly as there was no good retort.
"When I have figured out what I'm going to play, Rhodey." Tony huffed, glancing over to the piano in the corner covered in cardboard boxes, records having filled each one to the brim. "I'll get there, I'm just… busy."
"Yeah, well, get your ass in gear sometime soon, eh? You need to get yourself a gig somewhere, play for a bit, stop bein' so scared." He scoffed, getting up from the kitchen stool and crossing the apartment to have a look at the piano. "Christ, when was the last time you used this thing?"
Tony followed James over to the large instrument, letting his fingers run across its side arm, then the fallboard. He hadn't played since he'd moved in, if he was honest with himself. There was something a little intimidating about knowing how thin the walls were here, about how there was a master on the floor above that would be able to hear him so incredibly out of practice. He frowned, not liking the fact he had been so unproductive with his music. It had been his passion for so long, why the hell hadn't he kept it up?
Work. That was the answer. Work, down at the local garage. Fixing up people's cars and bikes for so many hours a day had left him constantly busy, tinkering for most of the hours of the days. He hadn't had the time anymore to spend his hours sat at his piano, letting his fingers drift across the keys and letting the music just take over. He hadn't had the time to spend hour after hour scribbling down notes and chords he would never take the time to play, or lyrics to the songs he would never take the time to sing.
The sound of a beeping phone took him from his thoughts, his eyes flicking up to James as he received a text.
"Damn, I'm gonna have to go. Got called into work last second," he explained while reaching for his jacket. "Seriously, Tony, go do something, or at least consider playing the piano again, eh?" With a pat to the back and a wave, James headed to the door and took his leave; Tony haven't even having the chance to move an inch from the side of the piano.
Well, there was only one thing he could do now, wasn't there?
It took him only about ten minutes to clear the piano of the clutter, boxes being pushed to the floor and the keys were cleared of dust. Papers were brushed from the stool and the floor around it cleared so he could move without hitting something. When he sat down on it he felt a small wave of nostalgia, his eyes drifting over the ivory and a smile coming unbidden to his face. A warmth filled his chest and he knew this felt right, that he'd missed this immensely.
His index finger pressed upon the C key and the note that came caused him to wince immediately. 'Damn it' he thought to himself, 'need to get this tuned'. That settled that then, he'd get it tuned on Monday. It was only Saturday, so he didn't have to wait too long.
Tony huffed and rose back onto his feet, glancing around and clicking his tongue as he thought about what to do. Scrunching up his nose he slipped into the kitchen and stuck his head beneath the sink, looking around for some polish. If he couldn't play his piano just yet, he might as well tidy it up a little bit.
The whole cleaning process took him well into the evening, every inch of the fine wood getting an equal amount of attention. In fact, Tony was cleaning the underside of the piano when a rather sharp sound came from the flat above and caused him to bolt upright; his head hitting the wood with a sharp smack.
"Shit!" He spat, rolling out from his current spot and holding his head as it throbbed. Cradling it, he let his fingers comb through his hair and seek out the lump that would undoubtedly form, wincing as he prodded at it.
Another sharp sound and then another, this time louder, and Tony could barely recognise it as a discordant tune on the violin. The bow wielder clearly was inexperienced, unsteadily playing each note slowly until there was an anguished shout of something akin to fuck and the crashing of something hitting the floor.
Tony knew very well what apartment the sound was coming from and before he knew it he was on his feet, heading towards his front door. It couldn't be… could it? The noise was coming from his mystery maestro's place, but instead of the joyful sounds he had grown accustomed to it was simply horrid. More shouting could be heard and he was out of the door, heading up the stairs before he could even think of a way to excuse what he was doing. The voice in his head told him this was none of his business, but as he had a habit of doing he squashed it into silence and before he could understand what exactly he was doing he was in front of the door, fist raised to knock.
He tapped his knuckle against the cream wood of the stranger's front door, able to hear the angry shouting from inside die down into nothing more than angered huffing. A beat passed, then another, and just when Tony was beginning to regret his sudden impulsiveness the door flew open.
"Can I help you?" A deep, baritone voice rumbled, hardly containing its irritation.
Definitely not a fiery haired girl, with the sparkling eyes and cheeky grin. His mind supplied helpfully as he looked up at the man he had just decided to disturb. Try a pale, chestnut haired bloke with a face just like a slapped ass.
"Hi, I'm Tony. Tony Stark." He said after a moment, giving his usual charming grin and hoping he could think of an excuse to be there fast enough. Well, an excuse besides 'I heard you shouting and trying to play and wondered what the fuck happened'. "Heard you were in and wanted to introduce myself, I realise we've never had the chance to meet." He held out his hand, waiting for a moment and realising very quickly this man had no interest in shaking it. Dropping it to his side he risked a glance over his shoulder, able to see a violin thrown to the floor; its neck snapped clean into two.
"Stephen, Stephen Strange."
